The Trustees

Race Cooper sits naked, chained to a steel chair in the hot lights of the detention room. Sweat shines on every muscle. A steel collar grips his neck. Dirk Caber stands over him, uniform sharp, salt-and-pepper beard trimmed neat. Dirk’s nightstick taps Race’s balls, then slides up and presses hard against his throat, then flicks each hard nipple. Race’s cock stands straight despite the fear. Dirk keeps the talk low and dirty, trying to pull answers free. Race says nothing. Dirk smiles and flips the collar switch. Current rips through Race’s spine. His body jerks hard against the cuffs, metal biting skin. Dirk snaps nipple clamps on next. Race screams once, twice. The shock keeps coming. Dirk watches, then steps close and opens his fly. He offers his cock like it’s the only way out. Race leans forward and swallows it fast. The taste cuts through the pain. Dirk frees Race’s hands so the man can grip and stroke while he sucks. Race works like the cock might save him. Dirk’s breath shortens. He pulls out at the last second, shoots thick ropes across Race’s face. At the same time Race’s own load sprays his stomach, and the words Dirk wanted finally spill out between gasps.